Every Offense Is Not A Hate At

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

O How Wretched Is That Poor Man That Hangs On Princes Favors! There Is Betwixt That Smile We Would Aspire To, That Sweet Aspect Of Princes, And Their Ruin, More Pangs And Fears Than Wars Or Women Have, And When He Falls, He Falls Like Lucifer, Never To Hope Again.

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

There's Hope A Great Man's Memory May Outlive His Life Half A Year.

And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.